


tell me when to stop (and when to go)

by sternenrotz



Category: The Horrors (Band)
Genre: 5 Times, Aftercare, Anal Sex, Dom/sub, F/M, Face-Sitting, First Time, Fisting, M/M, Multi, One Night Stands, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - F/M/M, Trans Male Character, there's so much stuff in here this is just the main gist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9797078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternenrotz/pseuds/sternenrotz
Summary: five people who Faris has had sex with, and their stories.





	

**Author's Note:**

> titled after "Controller" by Hercules & Love Affair ft. Faris Badwan because I have absolutely 0 shame, but in my defense, it's not subtle.
> 
> for those curious, the strap-on Rachel uses is this one ([x)](http://www.lovehoney.co.uk/product.cfm?p=33655) with this harness ([x](http://www.aslanleather.com/jaguar)), while Josh's cock is this ([x](http://www.lovehoney.co.uk/product.cfm?p=33602)) in this harness ([x](http://www.lovehoney.co.uk/product.cfm?p=28625)) -- I also want to take a second to clarify that the 'pegging' tag here exclusively refers to the Faris/Rachel part. (seriously, a quick google search shows that pegging by definition describes a woman penetrating a man.)

Faris is eighteen the first time he's having sex with another guy, which is incidentally also his first time having sex ever if he doesn't count fingerbanging a strange girl on holiday in Europe the year before. (He does not think that it counts, at least.)

It’s Tom from his dormitory at school he does it with, after they snogged each other four times and had approximately six and a half deep conversations about britpop. Well, they're still snogging now, but this time around, neither of them are wearing much, Faris with his t-shirt rucked halfway up his belly and Tom in his socks, with Faris’ legs bracketing his hips. Their cocks have been grinding together since what feels like ages, even now that Tom’s finished opening him up and withdrawn his fingers. Faris is half-surprised he's lasted this long considering how hot the fire in the pit of his stomach is burning.

Finally, Tom asks, “do you want to use a condom?”

“Probably,” Faris says.

He's tempted by it, by the grainy videos he saw the one time or two he moved past his shame and googled _gay porn_ , the sight of the cum slowly seeping back out from the skinny-yet-muscly boy he'd just watched getting pounded deeply. Deleted from his internet history, the images are nevertheless branded deeply into his memory, the thought of being marked, but he's not sure he can bring up the courage to actually tell Tom just yet.

“I mean, it's easier with the clean up, isn't it?”

“That's true,” Tom says, and he pecks Faris’ lips once more before he moves off.

They're in Tom's’ bedroom, in his parents’ posh central London flat where he's spending the winter holidays, home alone because his mum and stepdad are taking the younger siblings out to one of the last Christmas markets to still be open.

Faris likes Tom, really, really likes Tom. He's pretty, with pink lips like a girl and long eyelashes, thick soft hair Faris can bury his hands in when they snog now that he's growing it out longer. He's confident, too, he's got connections to buy weed and the first time he asked Faris whether he was gay, he added without hesitation, “because I like both boys and girls, you know?” And, also, as much as Faris admires him, he still feels a bit motion-sick as Tom goes to open his bedside drawer, as it really sinks in he's about to lose his virginity to Tom.

He knows it's a _girl_ thing to worry about when or who he's losing it to, knows all those times he's overheard the other boys in the locker room talking about how they shagged this bird or that girl with no regards to who she was, the way they treated being a virgin as a skin that must be shed. Still, he cannot help but feel unreal; the moment flows slow and blurry like spilled honey with a serene importance contained within it.

Tom’s not a virgin anymore, Faris knows that. He's had a big box of condoms his mum bought for him ever since he first brought home a girlfriend, and he pulls the rubber on over his dick with a certain expertise that only makes Faris’ head reel more.

He hasn't actually gotten around to touching Tom’s cock, yet, short of a few brief strokes before they decided to just rut into each other instead and free up their hands, and hasn't had it inside him yet, either, but he already likes it just from looking at it.

“You ready?”

“Yeah,” Faris says, and it sounds much more sure of it than he feels.

Tom applies more lube to his dick until it looks unnaturally shiny inside the condom, candy-pink even through the translucent latex. He's so pale save for his lips and cockhead, almost completely white against Faris’ soft brown when one hand grips his thigh for balance.

“Okay.”

The sensation still seems foreign when the weight of Tom’s bellend first pushes against him, when he experimentally draws a circle over where Faris is already somewhat open. Then it doesn't so much hurt as it feels foreign, a strange fullness in an unexpected place. Tom moves in agonisingly slowly, stuffs him fuller and fuller and somehow still seems to have more of his dick left. Finally, after what seems like minutes, he's eased all the way in.

“How’s this feel for you?” Tom asks, when he's leaning in close once again, not quite close enough to kiss Faris but close enough that he could.

“Feels like I have to take a shit,” Faris says matter-of-fact.

The skin around his hole is burning now, not with outright pain but the sensation of pulling a muscle during football, merely in a _very_ unexpected place. Still, Faris grips the root of his cock tightly to make sure he won't go soft now.

Tom says, “ew.”

“You should move.”

Tom hums before he's gently pulls out and then thrusts back in, only an inch of cock or so. His other hand also goes to Faris’ thigh, hands slotting in his kneepits.

Tom asks, “can I move your legs?”

“If you want to.”

Really, this is nice but that's all there is to it, _nice_. Faris misses the burn from that spot Tom had brushed against while fingering him, but now when Tom pushes his thighs close toward his chest, he automatically tenses up in pleasure as his cock grinds straight into it.

Tom only laughs at the harsh breath he presses out.

“Come here.”

Faris strokes himself to the rhythm of Tom’s dick inside him, gentle circles focussed around the head, except then Tom leans in for a kiss. In that instant it's so overwhelming, to be surrounded and suffused by Tom, his hand stops.

Tom says, “wow.” And then, “merry Christmass.”

“It's Boxing Day,” Faris says back, and then, “ew.”

Then, he kisses Tom again and his cockhead rubs up right against Tom as he moves, and all he can really do is sigh deep into Tom's mouth and pull his hair. The orgasm already builds up inside his belly, and it's slower than when he's wanking but so much more intense, like a white-hot liquid that fills his veins and makes his skin itch as it spreads rather than the usual pressure beneath where his cock meets his body.

“I’m gonna cum,” Tom says, and it's much too soon and harsh and somehow dirty despite the sheepishness contained within it. “Inside you.”

And it's so blunt and yet so intimate in how blunt it is, Faris can feel the blood rush up to his face and into his dick all at the same time. His fist rings around the base of it again.

Tom thrusts into him one, two, three more times, in the same way it leaks out from his cock, three spurts of cum to stain his belly, and Faris feels unreal before it's even over. Once again, his head is spinning, his blood singing, and all over his tingly skin the goosebumps spring up like fireworks rocketing off into the night sky. He swallows down the sex-swampy air, gasping for a breath he can't catch even when Tom holds onto the end of the condom so as to remove his cock.

“Wait, I’ll get you a tissue.”

*

He doesn't remember the second person to fuck his ass nearly as vividly.

This is after the band’s just released their first EP, when they've got a record deal to release a full album and Faris can't remember the last time they _weren't_ mentioned in this week’s NME in some way. It's also when he's going through a bout of singleness and in every city they tour he finds a different girl to hook up with. They all want to sleep with him, now, the girls, and Faris pretends it's for a reason other than _he's the singer_ whenever he takes one of them back to the van or the backstage toilets. He prefers the girls who don't scream when he takes his shirt off during the gig, the girls who stand at the bar in the back and offer to buy him a drink who strike up conversations with the certainty of someone years older and miles ahead of him.

Tonight's girl is a blonde; all the girls who want to shag him are blondes, a deeply unnatural shade that borders on sickly chopped into a mess. Twenty-five years old, she says, and a bartender. Tonight, they're playing in London and she lives in Wembley, so after they've finished playing and chatting to fans, Faris takes the night bus back to her flat.

“I've got two flatmates, but they’re not home,” she explains when she leads him down the dark hall to her bedroom door, and that's when she kisses him.

Faris never caught her name. She has her tongue pierced, and she licks at his teeth when she's unbuttoning his shirt, sat on his lap so her weight pins him to the mattress and her pussy and the heat it contains presses right over the line of his cock in his trousers.

He licks her out after he's taken her dress off, asks her to turn around, on her knees with her hands gripping the headboard, so he can push her tiny knickers to one side and stick his tongue deep inside her. She giggles when he hums into her, but that soon enough turns into squirming and gasping, especially when Faris takes her clit between his lips to suck on it, nose buried deeply enough in her folds that he can't breathe. He likes pussy so much more than breathing air as it is, though.

Faris kisses her clit and her inner lips, sucks the fleshiest part of them into his mouth and rocks his entire mouth and nose into her cunt. Sticky-sweet and raw, the smell and taste of it is enough to drive him crazy, cock hanging heavy between his legs when she's barely even touched him. In a way, he feels exposed even if it's to nobody but the empty room, what's with how his back is arched, how his arse is sticking right up into the air. Much like the position she's in for him, actually, and she's got a _fantastic_ arse, small and pert with faint pink marks marbling it. Faris wants to add more to that, slap her with the flat of his palm and stick his tongue into her back there, too, maybe a finger when he's inside her cunt. He's reached out to strike her before he can think about it, with a sound that resonates through the room much like how her squeaky moan in response does. Even in the dim light he can see how drippy her pussy has gotten, glistening with the juice he craves so much and so inviting for him to dive right back in.

He fucks her in the same position afterwards, after he'd pulled away however hesitantly with his face still feeling strange from her slick staining it, after he'd asked her if she came with his voice sounding equally as foreign. She's so small beneath him when he pushes into her cunt, glorious, warm cunt, not short for a girl but just as skinny as he is so he completely covers her when his chest aligns with her back.

“You feel so good.”

She's on the pill, she said she was, so Faris can feel her walls bare and slick squeezing right down onto his cock.

“Your dick is so big.”

Faris uses his whole weight to push her down into the mattress, so he can kiss her neck and link his arms around her waist. She's got small tits, perky in a pointed way, little silver barbells through her nipples that Faris can play with until his right hand dips down deeper for her clit. He cups her pussy as good as he can, feels how open he's stretched her and the hard little nub grinding against his palm. Maybe that's his favourite part of doing this, being able to feel how much he's turned those girls on, or maybe his favourite part is hearing it when he squeezes her breast and her breathing turns more erratic. He wants to slap her arse again.

“Pull out, please.”

It doesn't take much for him to make her cum again, not after he's already tenderised her with his mouth beforehand. Her breath turns rickety and harsh when Faris does pull out, cock shiny with her slick, a long string of it connecting him to her pussy for some more brief moments before it finally snaps.

Faris whispers, “fuck yeah.”

He can't help himself, he rubs his cockhead up the length of her cunt one more time to get her even stickier than she already is.

“Lay on your back.”

She crawls down between his thighs to suck him in turn, her hand dainty around the base of his cock and her make-up smudged with sex. Her mouth seems dainty, too, almost _excessively_ so when she darts her tongue out to lap up the mess of precum and slick that's coating the head. She traces the vein that runs up his shaft with her lips, then the scar that splits off the tip of his dick into a lighter shade, before finally, finally, she pops the head into her mouth. Her lips stretch open so wide to take him in, almost comically, and Faris watches how her cheeks hollow out and her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks as she sucks him down.

Her mouth is hot, running wet with saliva as she drools down his dick, and still not nearly so hot or so tight as her pussy had been. Faris reaches down to brush the sweaty strands of fringe from her forehead, to thumb the corner of his mouth, not sure what he’s looking for as if he could possibly feel the strain, and she pulls back off.

“You alright?”

In response, she simply takes his thumb into her mouth, past the knuckle so her tongue rubs over the pad like it just did over his cockhead. The chill it sends down Faris’ spine when she actually sucks him runs so much deeper than the sensation of getting head.

She strokes his cock with a heavy hand and says, “I want to try something.”

Her pointer replaces his thumb in her mouth, and Faris knows what it is she’s going to do before her wet fingertip even slips down to past his balls. His breath involuntarily hitches and it slips in easily, her fingernails are clipped short and blunt.

She gives him a lazy smile when she’s in to the root, not so much fingerfucking him as she’s drawing hesitant circles inside, never quite brushing his prostate. Faris thinks of dogs, how big and dark their eyes get when they’re begging for approval and even more so when she licks his cockhead again. He’s so fucking _drunk_.

“D’you like that?”

Faris only rumbles out a noise. “Give me another finger.”

Her spit isn’t slippery enough for it to not burn when she pushes her middle finger in next to the first, a faint, satisfying twinge. He’s full, just barely full enough, the press on his prostate more insistent now. Still, just barely enough isn’t enough at all for him.

She bends her head to take him back into her mouth, swallow him up and focus the sensation back into his cock, and it’s overwhelming and underwhelming all at the same. Faris feels appropriately whelmed.

“Stop that,” he breathes, pushes at her cheekbone with one hand that seems too large next to her dainty face, “stop sucking me.”

This time around, the string of drool that hangs from his cock stains down her chin when it snaps.

“Put another finger in.”

He spreads his legs out as wide as he can, knees pointed to the ceiling to make it easier for her to insert all three fingers. Finally, finally it’s _enough_ , Faris can feel her pinky finger crooked at an awkward angle against his arse, the full sensation like being stuffed with cock that punches a groan out from him. He can feel her eyes resting on his hole, too, and he wonders if she can see the skin ruddy and obscene around her fingers in the low light.

After what seems like too long a silence, too long a stasis, she asks, dirty grin on her face,

“You like that? Butt stuff?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Faris says, and he wraps a firm hand around the base of his cock, not to stroke but just to grasp. His hips invariably grind down against her. “Just fuck me with your fingers like you’d do it to yourself.”

Later on, when he cums, it’s on her face, across her cheek and jaw. Faris stops her when she asks him to pass the tissues from the bedside, says,

“Wait.”

And he drags two fingers through the mess, cleans the worst of it off so they’re completely coated in cum. He sticks one of them out towards her, has her lick it clean, and the other one, he pops into his own mouth.

*

“Open up for me.”

Rhys has a strange sexual energy around him.

“You ever do this before?”

Faris hums around his fingers when he pushes the third one into his mouth. It's meant to be a yes, and also a lie, but only halfway. Well, he has. Just not like this, obviously.

“Baby boy.”

Rhys gags him with his fingers and thumbs over his perineum, the thumb that's the only thing keeping him from being all the way in. Faris’ flesh feels like butter, soft and melty around Rhys’ fingers stuffed inside both ends of him. More so where that thumb dips in and grazes right over his prostate from the outside, and just as soon Rhys presses right up into that spot and Faris melts _all over_ , spine and limbs and jaw going slack at once.

The moan that spills out from his mouth fills the air, and Rhys only laughs at him, soft and tinkling. The room is filled out by the orange-red light from the bedside just as well, a milky citrus that blurs the lines of their bodies sprawled out on the sheets and smooths out the angles of Rhys’ face to paint him equally as soft. He fingers Faris’ mouth some more, presses down on the back of his tongue and gets just close enough to his gag reflex to make his throat tense up and shiver pleasantly, the sensation of an orgasm in a very, very, very unexpected place. At the sudden stimulation, Faris squirms, enough to actually make him gag, and Rhys withdraws his fingers with a smug smile.

“Think you're ready for my whole fist?” he asks.

It’s so filthy and yet completely matter-of-fact when he says it, Faris feels his blood rushing up to his throat, his ears, his face where it’s already swamped with sweat beneath his fringe. All at the same time his cock and his hole stretched around Rhys’ fingers throb even more, a delicious kind of overload. Faris forgets to moan in that instant.

“Can we kiss?”

Rhys has exceptionally thin lips surrounding a tiny mouth, candy-pink the way the tip of his cock looks and chapstick-soft like a girl’s. That’s where the similarities end when they kiss, though, Rhys kisses teeth-knockingly hard and bites into his bottom lip as if to make sure he won’t get away. Not that Faris would want to either way, though. He wonders if Rhys can taste traces of his own cock, if his mouth really is as dry as it feels on the inside.

“Tender,” Rhys points out.

Really, everything about him is quite similar to a girl, even more so when the lighting brings out the silky shine of his fringe, covering just one eye, and creates a bigger contrast between his pale cheeks and black eyelashes. Faris thinks of dolls, and then thinks about how this is the same man who knelt over his face to choke him with his cock and then fucked him in the shower just yesterday, a bizarre juxtaposition that somehow encompasses _Rhys_ perfectly. He also knows that Rhys isn’t like him, that he’s known he was gay since he was a young teenager and he never even pretended that this whole _sleeping with men_ thing was just something to do when they were bored on tour. Maybe that makes it a little weird, this relationship they started while recording the album, but the sex is too good for Faris to truly think about that.

“What?”

“Your mouth’s so tender.”

Rhys licks into him again just to prove it, and maybe also to hide the noise he presses out when his fingers expertly hook into Faris’ prostate again. His _other_ fingers go to the back of Faris’ head, pull just a little bit tighter than he likes it, and Faris doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He fondly remembers that time a few weeks back when Rhys used a pair of those novelty fuzzy handcuffs to lock him up to the headboard bar, the strange contentment in helplessness that being bound gave him.

Faris raises his arms up above his head, even with nothing to keep them together, and as soon as they pull apart, he asks,

“Give me another finger?”

“You want my whole hand,” Rhys says once again, and this time it’s not a question at all.

Faris still says, “yeah.”

He feels momentarily empty when Rhys eases back out to apply more lube to his gloved hand, careful to ensure that Faris can see it glisten in the dim light. Rhys has skinny lotion-soft hands that feel lovely wrapped around a cock, with equally skinny long fingers that feel even more lovely inside him. Really, Faris is _itching_ to be filled up again, to be fisted if he wants to be frank.

Still, the sight of just how big Rhys’ hand is compared to his cock runs a shiver up his back that’s delicious as much as it’s daunting.

“Careful.”

The word seems too big when Rhys says it out into the quiet room, right when his gooey fingers touch upon Faris’ opening. Faris counts one, two, three, four, five fingertips folded together into a beak shape. It’s _happening_ , and before it even does, it raises up an army of prickly goosebumps up his chest and down his limbs.

Faris wants to kiss Rhys again.

The stretch is gradual at first, so gradual that it only creeps up on him when Rhys has to be in to the first knuckle at least. Slowly, slowly his fingers dip in deeper, and Faris thinks back to his very first time getting fucked and fingered open, back when the stretch still seemed new and terrifying. That's how he feels all over again, only this time, the sensation is entirely justified, too open and too foreign.

“How d’you feel?” Rhys asks and breaks the exalted silence.

“Full.” Faris lets the word hang in the air, but it's not enough, it's not anywhere close to describing how he feels with Rhys’ hand pushing him open. “Really, really full.”

Rhys laughs, soft and chiming. “That's normal.”

“How much more to go is it?”

“You're down to the knuckles now. Think you can take it?”

Faris wants to say yes, but the breath is knocked right out of him when Rhys _shifts_ , when all five fingertips press up against his prostate. He opens his mouth only for nothing to come from it, caught in a silent groan.

“Oh my God.” A grin spreads across Rhys’ face, equally in awe as it's predatory. He laughs.

“What?”

“You look really pretty when you’re overwhelmed.”

It’s a simple compliment, and yet it somehow feels dirtier than if it were overtly dirty, enough to drive all the blood up into Faris’ cheeks again. He wonders if Rhys can see it, perfectly aware his complexion usually conceals a blush, but his face feels so hot it's _got_ to be visible by now.

“Pretty,” he only repeats. Not that he doesn't like it.

“I'll try and get my knuckles in you now.”

Rhys reaches for the lube again, drizzles the liquid carefully over the latex. He's so far away when he's knelt up on the bed, and it's not that Faris doesn't like being loomed over when he's spread-eagled and getting fucked. Still, he misses the heat of another body, the taste of mouth.

Again, the stretch is subtle at first. Rhys seems to be even more careful now, moving in slow increments so Faris only barely notices the change at first. His cock lies heavy and untouched on his belly, in a sticky puddle of precum, and he's not sure if it's okay to touch or not, whether he even wants to touch and detract from the pressure of Rhys' hand in his ass. Faris darts out his hand, removes it from his intangible shackles, and drags two fingers through the mess to taste himself. He keeps them in his mouth even after he's licked the salty off, desperate for something he can suck on to keep himself focussed, but just as soon, he bites down on his knuckles reflexively.

A hiss tumbles from his mouth, and Rhys laughs.

“Okay?”

He's stopped moving once again, and still, his mere presence is more than overwhelming. The hardest, pointiest part of his hand is pressed right into Faris' entrance, the tight ring of muscle that's trying so hard to clamp down without ever managing to pull Rhys in or force him out. Faris is reasonably sure he can actually feel his arse pulsing.

“Yeah.”

The sting where his teeth clamped down distracts from the ache inside him, the oh-so-good one that builds up a pressure in his belly. Faris slides his hand back down to his cock, not stroking, just holding.

“Then I'll keep going.”

Rhys twists his fingers ever so subtly, pets over Faris' prostate, but once again, the breath gets caught in his throat when he expects a groan to slip out.

“Won't stretch you out any more now. Just go deeper.”

And Rhys leans in and uses his free hand to link his fingers with Faris', to press a soft kiss to his hand and the indents on his pointer and middle. The gesture's tender enough that Faris melts all over again, enough to distract him when Rhys goes deeper. His hand slips in like a hot knife through butter, a more literal variant of the metaphor, and the pain is all gone now, replaced by a unique strangeness. Faris is _so full_.

“You still tell me if it's too much, yeah?”

Rhys' hands aren't much longer than his cock, merely wider, and a chill runs up Faris' spine when his knuckles rake over his insides.

“It's fine.”

“Okay.”

Still, Rhys moves at a speed that's only slightly less agonising, threading his hand into Faris like he's a puzzle to be solved, a lock that must be picked with deliberate movements. The silence between them turns to a strange eminence once again, so quiet Faris can hear Rhys' breath filling in where his own should be, but this time around, all he can focus is the throbbing inside his hole. He wonders if Rhys can feel it, if he can see it and if it looks as obscene as it feels, as if Faris' insides are trying to swallow him up whole. That's exactly how it feels, and Faris would be perfectly okay with the thought of having Rhys inside him for the rest of his life. He lets go of his cock to reach for the precum on his stomach again, and this time, he smears it all the way down his tongue.

Rhys breathes out, “Jesus.”

That's all the validation Faris needs. He licks up his fingers once again just for show, and he can't see Rhys' cock from this angle, but he wonders if it's hard again, if it's straining the way his own is up against his stomach. The thought of it makes him smirk up at Rhys deliberately, or at least he hopes that's what it looks like, fingertips still caught inside his mouth.

“That's it, babe.” Rhys squeezes his hand where they still have their fingers intertwined, and there's the slightest tremble in his voice now, Faris thinks. “'m all the way inside you now.”

Faris swallows, nothing he can say to that.

“You can handle it?”

His fingers still taste salty when he licks them once again, and Faris barely nods. Underneath his sweaty head, the pillow feels foreign, sticky strands of hair scratching audibly against the silk.

And Rhys begins to twist, slowly, slowly turns his hand inside Faris in a corkscrewing manner. He only registers a subtle change in the fullness at first, a shift where Rhys' wrist is stretching his ass open. Faris thinks about the sensation of being stuffed with cock, and how this is somehow much more overwhelming even without the steady in-and-out of getting fucked.

Finally, finally Rhys grinds his knuckles against Faris' prostate, with all the precise steadiness of trying to scratch a particularly satisfying itch, and all the breaths Faris couldn't catch come back to him in one instant. He exhales, a strange, shapeless moan that's an amalgamation of all the moans that wouldn't come out, and Rhys won't stop moving now, presses all the individual notes out of Faris like he's tuning an instrument. The pressure inside his belly only grows, pushes behind his cock, and Faris doesn't want to reach down and spoil it now; he'd rather stay like this for a little longer, teetering on the overwhelming brink of cumming.

A louder groan slips out at the thought of being forcibly kept there, tortured by the sensory overload, and he's too far gone to be embarrassed by that now.

Rhys' face splits into a dirty grin once again. “That good?”

*

Faris loves, loves, loves eating pussy.

He remembers when he first moved to London for university, the first time he pulled a girl at one of the shit clubs he went to during freshers' week. He's always been drawn to the space between girls' legs, and he supposes it's an instinct, something deeply ingrained in his brain. With that first girl, the first girl he ever _really_ shagged, he went to crawl between her legs and hitch her skirt up, knickers to one side, before he'd even taken her bra off, and the mere thought of getting to taste her and warm her up for his cock got him much hotter under his skin than any blow job ever could.

Faris loves the smell of it alone, the salty-sweet taste of slick, he loves when girls get so goopy that it sticks to his chin in strands when he pulls off. He doesn't use his fingers, not when sticking his tongue in is so much sloppier and warmer and _better_. None of the girls ever complained, either, but he likes flicking his pointer between a girl's lips and pulling it back out covered in slick, the thick kind that's almost opaque, frothy with the motions of fucking. He loves the texture of it, too, so much more pleasant in his mouth than the strange lumpy thickness of cum, although he isn't opposed to either, but he'd literally beg for a girl to let him lap all the slick out of her until she was completely dry and a mess. And he loves hearing the girls react, all the little noises they make.

His first girlfriend had been a tiny girl, well over a foot shorter than him with small handfuls of breasts, the submissive type who preferred lying on her back during sex and looked genuinely heartbroken when he told her he didn't actually like getting his dick sucked. She balked at the very idea when he asked her to finger him for a change, but the first time Faris asked her to sit on his face, she rode him with his fingers on her hips and her hands holding his head in place. By the time she came, his face had gone numb, covered in her slick much like how his belly was splattered with cum. He hadn't even touched himself.

Faris loves being suffocated with pussy. Just being between a girl's legs with his nose pressed to her mound is enough to run shivers up his cock, but lying on his back, soft thighs trapping his head to the mattress, he feels so out of his depth and _so_ in place all at the same it almost becomes overwhelming.  He fondly remembers one girl he hooked up with on tour in Europe, older than him, who insisted on riding his face in the 69 position so he could spread her arse open and tongue her there, too. All the while, she kept twisting his nipples, digging her nails into his skin until Faris was so sure it would bleed, and she didn't need to touch his cock for him to cum, either. Faris loves the weight on his face, loves knowing that he's being used like a toy when a girl grinds her cunt all over his tongue to suffocate him with her folds. He loves hooking up with girls to find they're not clean-shaven down there, loves burying his nose in the coarse hair to smell the musky pheromones trapped or just rubbing it all over his face until he's sore and scuffed.

Rachel's got a big bush, thick black hair that's just right for him to run his fingers through or for her to grind down on his face. She keeps him between her legs with her fingers in his hair, keeps his mouth right on her cunt despite that even if he could get away to breathe, he wouldn't want to. Her cunt tastes so sweet, slick drooling out into his mouth the way she only gets when she's close to cumming. A part of him wonders if he can just _stay_ like this, if she just stopped pulling off to let him take a deep inhale every few minutes, and whether her orgasm would come before or after he inevitably fainted.

He can hear it, too, even through the rush of blood thrumming in his ears and the fuzz in his head. Maybe it's about her being a classically trained soprano, but he swears Rachel has the most melodic moan he's ever heard, soft and breathy and clear. Her voice goes up, up, up when she's about to cum, a new note whenever Faris flicks his tongue up into her. Like he's playing a strange instrument, he comes back to that metaphor again, or maybe she's playing him, tuning herself on his face.

Faris hears it but can't see it when she actually reaches her orgasm, a staccato of short, sharp moans that hiccup out while she's pulling his hair tighter and rocking down into his mouth. Somewhere deep down, he still finds it surprising how vocal she gets, and he wonders if maybe she does it just for him, a form of praise when he's servicing her. He feels it too when she cums, when he's got just the tip of his tongue tucked into her and her insides spasm and flutter, slobbering out sweet, sweet slick. Her clit twitches with what's either the contractions or her pulse when he takes it back between his lips, not big enough to really get a grip on it but enough suction to make her whine. Faris thinks about the pulse he can feel whenever a guy nuts in his mouth, and he wonders if she'll let him do that to her as well, suck her strap-on cock before she actually fucks him. As if she'd had the same thought, Rachel ruts her hips down harder, and it's enough to make his dick twitch untouched against his belly. For a second he's worried he could cum right now.

“Thank you.”

She doesn't move off his face until after her cunt stopped twitching. Even then, Faris is too drowsy to remember to breathe right away. His instincts only kick back in when Rachel uses a wet wipe to clean the worst off his face. As soon as he's taken a deep inhale, he instantly feels much less dizzy but no less dazed, just like the vague confusion that comes with sensory overload. Subspace, he knows, is the most pleasant kind of overload, and especially _face-sitting_ subspace, the glorious, glorious overstimulation of having his face full of pussy.

“Thank _you_ ,” he says back.

His head doesn't have any more of that vertigo in it and still everything in his field of vision is a little fuzzy at the edges, the black of Rachel's bra and the red of her lipstick bleed into her skin ever so slightly. The rest of his body fades back into consciousness now that he's no longer preoccupied with eating her out, his arms achy where they're bound above his head and his cock heavy and hard. The same heaviness sits in his balls, too, so ready to cum when they haven't even gotten to the main event, what was supposed to be his reward. Even if, in all fairness, this was already more than rewarding enough.

Rachel uses her thumb to wipe his mouth clean, slips it between his lips to let him lick the slick off, and Faris resists the urge to suck it down deeper.

“You're okay? Do you want me to untie you?”

“I'm fine.”

The rope they use is soft cotton, wound around his wrists loosely enough to not chafe or cut the circulation, even if it does strain every muscle in his arms.

“Promise.”

His mouth feels empty as soon as she's withdrawn her hand, and he subconsciously flicks his tongue out. Maybe if his hands weren't tied.

“You want to keep going,” Rachel asks once again, except it's not quite a question this time around.

“Please.”

He looks down the length of his body, where he can see his cock drooling on his belly and how badly it needs to be touched, but he can't quite keep his eyes from trailing back over towards her. The orgasm's still obvious just under her skin, a pearly pink that's not usually there. Faris wants to touch it, he wants to push his face into her neck and the space between her breasts, to lick the stripe of skin between her cunt and where her stockings end.

“Fuck me?” And because he feels that might not have been enough, not enough pleading, he adds, “ _please_ fuck me?”

“Yeah. I will.”

Rachel leans in closer, close enough to finally kiss him and distract him that way while her fingers slip between his cheeks.

“Spread a little bit wider for me, pup.”

There is a moment of tension before Faris can relax enough for her to pull the plug out and leave him with a sensation that's emptiness and relief at the same time. The stainless steel glistens in the low light when she brings it up to his face, not long enough to actually stimulate his prostate but just right to keep him stretched open and ready to be fucked. He doesn't have to be told to lick it clean.

Still, he loves the filthy shudder that runs up his back when Rachel whispers to him, “suck.”

The metal's warmed up in his mouth with body heat, foreign with traces of the lube they use and, beyond that plastic-y taste, there's the musky flavour of his own arse. Maybe he enjoys that a little too much. That sensation of emptiness is still there where he has his legs open wide for her, and then, when she pulls the toy out from between his lips, his _mouth_ feels empty, too.

Rachel inspects the butt plug to verify he's done a good job cleaning it, before she places it over on the bedside table.

“You're a good boy.”

Faris revels in the compliment, in Rachel's hand that pets his cheek for a short second.

“Please?”

“Wait, I'll get my cock for you.”

They've had the harness lying in preparation on the empty side of the bed since before they started, and Faris turns his head to watch as Rachel pulls it on. She's got a certain preciseness to it, tightening the straps to fit her just right in a matter of seconds, and his mouth waters at the sight of the dildo jutting out from her hips when she’s fastened it properly. He wants to suck, to have something filling up his mouth again, and more than that he wants to be fucked. Faris doesn't know what he wants when Rachel crawls between his legs.

“Take your bra off? Please?”

“Very well.”

She's wearing one of those flimsy lace things that are more skin shining through than they're fabric. Still, Faris wants to see more, wants to watch her breasts bounce when she's actually pounding him. He can't keep himself from staring when she pulls the garment over her head, when her tits jump once with the movement and settle. Her nipples are perked with arousal once again, or maybe _still_ , Faris doesn’t know. He doesn't know where to look when she leans down closer to him, either, her breasts or the dildo swinging between her legs, and it's only too late that he realises maybe he should have focussed on her hand with the bralet balled up within.

“Open up.”

He knows what's coming, but still it feels unexpected, something they hadn't planned for in advance. Not that Faris is ever not in the mood to be gagged while he gets fucked, so he obediently drops his mouth open for her to stuff the fabric inside.

The bra's soft silk, surprisingly soft compared to the scratchy lace knickers she usually picks when she wants to gag him. Faris still chokes when she pushes in deeper than he'd anticipated. It's only a short moment of itching in his throat, a small cough that gets muffled by the material, and still, he basks in the gesture when she rubs over his cheek once again. Her thumb wipes away some barely-there moisture.

“You remember your signal, right?”

She's close enough now for the dry head of the dildo to rub against his arsehole where it's still wet.

Faris nods, of course he does. Their safe word is “chalice”, and, if he's got his mouth full, the safe gesture is the three fingers of his right hand raised.

“Good boy.”

The praise comes a little too easy tonight, maybe, or maybe that's part of the reward, too. He's used to working much, much harder for those two words. As it is, they run a pleasurable shiver all the way up his torso, and it's enough to distract him when Rachel opens the bottle of lube, the snick of the cap loud in the quiet bedroom. The next time her cock knocks against him, it's slick.

“I'm gonna fuck you now.”

A strange tremble still goes through her voice when she says _fuck_ and it’s almost paradoxical, as if that single little world could possibly be more sinful than anything she's actually _done_ to him.

For no reason at all, Faris thinks back to the very first time they slept with each other. That was on his couch, after long hours of writing music, Rachel's skirt hiked up and knickers pushed aside so he could eat her, one hand underneath her jumper. After, he only undid his fly to get his cock out. Still, lying halfway on top of her while their clothed bodies rubbed against each other, he'd felt incredibly vulnerable, the same kind of vulnerable that he feels now when he's completely naked with his wrists tied and his mouth gagged.

The strap-on they've got is smooth and purple with a round head, the same girth all the way down so as soon as it's slipped in Rachel can sink into him to the root. She braces her hands on the back of his thighs so she'll be able to control the angle, and Faris relishes it when she penetrates him deeply, the first drag on his prostate. The sensation's comforting in how familiar it is, and yet completely different from the feeling of Josh's cock, or a flesh-and-blood cock for that matter.

Faris doesn't dare himself to exhale again until her hips are nested against his arse.

“Okay, pup?” Rachel asks, and he knows she's not expecting an answer before she even starts to thrust.

The movement's microscopic at first, a deliberate tease so the head of her strap-on scrapes over his walls as slowly as possible. She rocks her hips back inwards just as soon, however, a sudden nudge into his insides that runs a tremble through his body and he wonders whether she can feel it.

Faris moans and it gets caught in the fabric stuffed between his teeth.

“That's it.”

Rachel leans forward to brace one small hand on his chest, right above where his heart is throbbing. She draws an obscure pattern over the sweaty skin, but at the same time, the angle changes so she's _really_ stretching him open.

There's always an anticipation that comes with Rachel's hand on his face, the question of whether she'll turn the tender gesture into a slap. She sticks her thumb into his mouth, presses down on the makeshift gag like how she likes to do with the actual rubber ball one they have. Faris struggles to keep his eyes on hers.

“Focus on me, boy.”

It's an overload all over again, so much going on around him that Faris doesn't know _what_ to focus on. The bralet in his mouth and the drool building up behind it or her face that's become stern and stone with the Dominant mindset, the goosebumps spread across her tits or her cock that's rooted all the way inside him still. She's not moving anymore.

Faris only blinks.

“Okay?” Rachel asks. “If you don't look me in the eyes I'll stop.”

 _Okay_ , Faris would probably echo it back if his mouth wasn't blocked. Focus focus focus. He blinks again. This time, he meets her gaze on the first try.

He wonders if she can see how fucked she's already gotten him, proverbially shagged his brains out, whether his eyes have gone cloudy. In contrast to that, Rachel's eyes are bright, the make-up around them is smudged but there's a distinct sparkle to them.

More so when her smile softens and she says, “good boy.”

She uses both hands to manoeuvre his knees up to his shoulders, even if she has to pull out to be able to do it. Faris doesn't mourn it as much as he's already shivering with what's to come, a deeper, better angle, even if his hole does feel awfully empty when he clenches around nothing for a few short seconds. He helps as good as he can, as much control of his muscles as he can muster up.

“Better like this.”

She straddles his arse, jack hammer position, and this time around Faris can watch when she readies the dildo. The plastic still glistens with slickness, milky now that it's been inside him, and the thought of getting to lick it clean after almost gets him more excited than the prospect of being fucked. Almost.

He closes his eyes right when the head moves out of his field of vision, the moment before Rachel pushes into him once again. Without seeing it, the sensation of being filled back up is amplified tenfold, more so when she grinds the head over his prostate in a very deliberate movement, and just like how the sensation of spit-soaked fabric in his mouth and the strain in his legs is amplified. Rachel did tell him very early in their relationship that she admired how pliable he was, how easily he bent in half and if he tried, he could get his legs all the way behind his head. The thought of pleasing her pleases him immensely.

Rachel shoves all the way in once again, deep enough he can feel the harness beginning to dig into the flesh of his arse. This one's made of soft leather, with an extraordinary amount of studs and buckles and little details, chosen just for him as another little detail to make tonight all the more rewarding. She rocks in and out experimentally, lets the head of her cock rub up his walls and over his prostate, and Faris throws his head back to bare his throat for her. A gesture of submission, not just in the sexual sense, but he's ready for her mouth and teeth or maybe her hands to choke him, a prey animal surrendering to its hunter. His neck feels empty without a collar to claim it.

“Look at me.”

She doesn't stop moving this time around, and still Faris wants to obey her order. His head feels vaguely floaty, like the sensation of being so drunk that he can't keep it still anymore, but somehow he follows her voice to find her face anyway.

“Your face is so pretty when you've got your ass stuffed.”

Any leftover shroud of hesitance is gone from her voice now. For some reason _that's_ what knocks the breath out of Faris rather than her actual words. He can't get enough air in through his nose, but when he tries to inhale through his mouth all he gets is flimsy fabric in the back of his mouth. Rachel's face swims in his vision, her sweaty curls and the teardrop shapes of her breasts sway with the rhythm she's starting and it's equally diluted with the blur, his own tears or sweat that stings in his eyes. Faris has to blink again.

“Looks so good for me around my dick.”

Faris wants to say, _thank you_. He wants to hear more, loves the sound of her breathy voice forming filthy words, but more than that, he wants to say, _thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re so beautiful, you feel so good inside me._ A moan gets caught in his throat with every time that she thrusts in, nailing right into his prostate, and he dare not let it out, not when his mouth is too muffled for her to hear what she’s doing to him.

“You're already close, are you?”

He _is_ , about as close as he can get before it gets painful. A steady pressure’s built up in the bottom of his belly, driving right behind his balls where they feel full and ripe again, ready to burst, as uncomfortable of a metaphor that is. His dick is, he’d completely forgotten about that, too overwhelmed with the friction inside him to focus on that, but it’s just as overripe on his belly. A puddle of ooze has bubbled from the head, sticking to his skin, and all of a sudden the only desire Faris has is to taste it. He wants to taste it all, wants to lap up the precum from Rachel’s fingers before she later feeds him his actual jizz, wants her on his mouth again after he’s sucked all traces of lube from the strap-on. His mouth’s all too dry, too dry and too wet simultaneously, suffocated by the fabric.

“Come, tell me how I’m making you feel.”

Faris doesn’t know how he feels. Rachel yanks the bralet back out of his mouth to let him speak, and as soon as he can he gulps down a deep breath as if he'd been pulled up from the water. The moan that spills from him when he exhales sounds desperate even to his ears, the gasp of a drowning victim, except that he would gladly suffocate inside her and under her. As if he’d completely forgotten how to breathe through his nose, he swallows down the air through his mouth now.

“Use your words, boy.”

Rachel caresses his cheek once more with gentle fingers, and this time it flips and the gesture turns into a smack. The sting runs from the flesh of his cheek down to his jaw, and his skull rings with the impact. The pain’s enough for him to find his focus, however, even if another gasp tumbles out from his mouth first.

“It’s so good,” Faris exhales, and his voice is strangely foreign to his ears, he _exhales_ and has to emphasise it because he didn’t think it was possible for him to do that. It’s the worst thing he could have said, the least evocative description of how he feels possible.

“What else?” Rachel asks, as if she thought the same thing, but still she continues to give him her cock.

Her thumb rubs over where she'd slapped him, the ache under the skin. Faris wonders if it’s going to leave a red mark.

“You’re so deep,” he says, then, down to the root, and he says, “your cock’s so thick, I feel so full, it’s so good.”

His tongue gets caught on his teeth when he makes the words, mouth clumsy, and he knows he’s still not saying what she wants to hear.

“I want to cum,” he says then. “I’m so close. I want to cum and then I’ll clean up the mess. Please.”

“Good boy.”

Rachel leans down to be closer to him, and for a brief moment Faris wonders if she’ll spit in his face. Her hand moves down to his untouched cock, not to pump but to squeeze, hard enough to hurt. His legs shake when she continues to thrust down into him, a sick swirl of pain and pleasure as the orgasm grows closer than he thought was possible, too close without tipping over the edge.

“Come, I’ll let you cum for me now.”

*

The very first time Faris slept with Joshua Hayward, they were in the middle of touring America.

After they’d released the second album, Faris cut it off with Rhys for good, whatever _it_ was they had. No hard feelings, no, but in a way it was strange for the two of them to keep stealing off for a quick shag or crashing in someone's room after a long day of recording when at the same time, Rhys spent much of his time in Joe and Harry’s flat, or more specifically, in Joe's bed.

Way back when they'd first formed the band, there'd been a neat fit – Faris was still seeing Tom at the time, on a friends-with-benefits basis, and Rhys and Joe were already in their strange relationship. Rhys started seeing Tom the summer they worked on their electronic side project, and then, the summer after, he started seeing Faris, too – although Faris himself must admit that he'd found himself taking Joe back to his hotel room on more than one occasion. In any case, Josh had always been the fifth wheel of the group. Whether that was because of his long-term relationship or because he might have been the only one in the band who's _actually_ straight, Faris didn’t know that.

Still, that particular night, he found himself with Josh in his hotel room, Josh in his bed, Josh underneath him. A little, he found it surprising how pliant Josh was in his feistiness, spread out for him but still with one thigh pressed up into Faris' groin to remind him which of them was in control here.

Maybe it had been the teeth, or Josh's general sex-hair half-undone-belt aura of being someone who was a freak between the sheets, but Faris had fully expected _himself_ to be the one pushed down onto the mattress. He hadn't expected for Josh to be so receptive to lips on his neck and jaw, either, where the skin was marred with stubble and still so unbelievably soft. Still, Josh very obviously loved to make Faris chase him, to pull back after a few seconds of snogging only to get a whiny noise, and to generally be an awful tease. The sting where his tiny fangs had dug into Faris' lip was proof enough of that, and also proof that clearly, there was something of that animalistic presence within him that Faris had always expected. Josh had once said something about his girlfriend, or maybe ex-girlfriend, and a strap-on, and still, Faris couldn't keep the surprise of this scenario from overwhelming his thoughts.

They'd first kissed on the elevator up to their floor, the only ones returning to the hotel since Rhys and Joe had gone out to a club and the last they had seen of Tom, he was flirting with a bird with long black hair, and Faris had expected this to be over quickly. A fast, dirty shag, maybe he would have gone down on his knees to suck Josh's cock first, but inevitably, Josh would've bent him over some piece of furniture or shoved him down to the mattress and make him take it. Faris had always thought that Josh would be the type to pull out and remove the condom before he cums, to do it on his face or in his mouth or maybe all over his arse.

Now, Faris had lips feeling beestung from kissing for too long, a pleasant permanent shudder up his spine from Josh's fingers scratching his scalp. Josh's denim-clad leg pushed insistently against his half-hard cock through the layers of jeans and briefs. Why the _fuck_ were they both still fully clothed?

“I want to fuck you so bad,” Faris said. Actually, that wasn't what he wanted at all. “Want you to fuck me.”

He only found that much satisfaction in grinding himself against Josh's thigh, and even then, he found that pulled away from him more or less instantly.

“Wait,” Josh said in response. There was a slur in his voice, he was _drunk_ , but then, it wasn't as if Faris was _not_ drunk.

Josh said, again, “wait.”

His fingers came to steady themselves on Faris' shoulders, as if that could have helped him formulate his thoughts into sentences.

“Can we stop?” Josh asked. “Just… a few minutes.”

And just as soon, his hands turned insistently from grasping to pushing. Faris willingly went along with it and let himself be manhandled to the other side of the bed.

“Did you change your mind?”

Josh _had_ said earlier that he'd never been with a man before, but then, that was just before he dragged Faris onto the mattress and on top of him.

“No.” Josh furrowed his brow and said, “no, it’s not that.”

Twice, he blinked, and this time Faris knew it was nerves rather than drunkenness – a mannerism Josh had picked up from _him_ , actually.

“There's something I need to tell you. I mean show you.”

Josh began to undo his shirt, the dreadful black one with the two rows of buttons, fingers clumsy with the booze. Faris wasn't sure if he should offer his help or not.

He only said, “okay.”

Finally, Josh sat up and slipped the shirt off his shoulders.

“Look.”

Faris had seen Josh shirtless before. Josh was brownish-pink nipples, slightly too far apart, a smidgen of chest hair between, maybe a bit of extra pudge on his belly, but nothing out of the ordinary. He wasn't _vain_ about it, never strutted around the studio like a rooster the way Joe was prone to do, but he'd gotten past not taking his shirt off in dressing rooms by now.

Faris said, “am looking.”

Kneeling on the mattress and looming over him with such authority that Faris wouldn't have questioned anything even through his shaky voice, Josh said, “I had a double mastectomy a little over a year ago.”

A pause during which Faris didn't dare to speak a word, before he asked, “d'you know what this means?”

Faris only blinked. “I think. Yeah.”

He'd slept with a transgender man once before, over one summer when he'd taken to finding hookups in gay clubs between festivals.

“I really couldn't have told, you know,” he said, and he quickly added, “from your chest, I mean. You don't have any visible scars.”

“They healed up really well on me, I guess.” Josh snorted out a short noise that Faris couldn't place, and he drew a line underneath one pectoral with the pad of his thumb. “I always have people tell me you can't see them unless you really look for them.”

And in fact, there really was a scar on each side of Josh's chest, maybe a little thinner than the breadth of a finger with the colour only a shade darker than the soft peachy tone of Josh's skin.

“Yeah, I get that,” Faris said. “Can I touch?”

He was already reaching out to run his thumb over one scar before Josh gave his okay with a nod, the skin there slightly raised like it would be on a tattoo.

Josh's breath hitched.

“What's this feel like for you?”

“They're a bit ticklish, still.” Josh pursed his lips as if to keep a cackle from slipping out when Faris brushed over the skin again. “But I've got no sensation in my nipples, which is cool.”

Faris didn't know how to respond other than to laugh. Actually, he much rather wanted to kiss Josh again than to keep talking. Or maybe do both at the same time. He pulled off his shirt to match Josh’s nakedness, and he spread himself out, neck and mouth bared in anticipation.

“Hey. Come back here?”

This time around, Josh was the one to crawl over him, still with a thigh in his groin to assert himself. Faris got braver this time around, mirroring the position so they fit together like puzzle pieces. He was tempted, a little, thought to rock his leg up into Josh’s crotch to give him a bit of that sweet, sweet friction on his junk, but thought better of it. Not just yet, at least.

“Hey,” Josh said, and just as soon, he closed the distance between their faces to attack Faris with a kiss.

Faris’ hands went to Josh’s sides this time around, around the bottom of his ribs to feel the heave of every breath. This first kiss was different, sheepish and somehow much more forward at the same time, and Faris had to hold his breath with the overwhelm. His hands, unsure of where to roam, dug themselves into the skin of Josh’s back ever so slightly, and judged by the noise that spilled into his mouth at that moment, Josh seemed to like it.

“I feel like I probably should have told you sooner. Like, before I hooked up with you,” Josh said then.

Faris shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“I just assumed you’d be cool with it.”

Josh’s hand came to lay itself across Faris’ cheek, callouses a strong contrast to the soft skin, and Faris’ breath almost hitched again at the prospect of having Josh’s thumb in his mouth.

“Since you’re bisexual and all?”

Faris laughed. Still, he was relieved when Josh’s mouth on his prevented him from having to think of a reply.

“Have you told any of the other guys?”

Maybe he shouldn't have asked, Faris realises that immediately after he's said it.

“Rhys and Joe know,” Josh said, “obviously. No more words. More sex.”

Next thing, they were kissing again, and Faris' hands wandered to undo Josh's belt.

That night, they didn't so much _fuck_ as they took time to acclimatise to each other's bodies. Faris slipped his fingers between Josh's legs, let him explain what he liked and how he referred to his junk, before he crawled down the mattress to actually suck his cock. He slipped a single careful finger up Josh's front hole to press up and make the orgasm all the more intense, and he didn't stop until Josh was whining with his face hidden in the pillow. After, Josh flipped him over onto his belly and opened him up with his tongue to eventually bring off, slow and shuddering with one calloused hand on his cock and two fingers of the other hooked into Faris' prostate. The next morning, before they had to rejoin the rest of the band on the bus, they did it again.

Faris doesn't know why he's thinking back to that now. With Josh, there had been no initial awkwardness the first time they fucked, not even the first time they _properly_ fucked as soon as they had another night in a hotel and Faris managed to get his hands on some lube. Sex with Josh always felt natural, just another thing to do between two friends and certainly nothing that could ever disquiet him or make him second-guess it.

Still, when Josh slides his tongue into him for the first time tonight, Faris feels much more naked than he already is. Only the heavy collar on his neck keeps him from being fully nude, but it doesn't cover him up as much as it claims his neck, a handy reminder who he belongs to that makes him feel even more vulnerable.

He'd never worn it in public before, not even to a munch or play party. Until now, the only person to see him like this had been Rachel, whenever she'd decided to collar him for sex or a scene. Sometimes, for no particular reason other than that she likes the soft submissive headspace it sends him to, and Faris in turn likes it just as much.

Now, Josh's pulling apart his cheeks so he can get in there really deeply, so deep Faris feels the tip of his nose against his skin. Finally, he hums, before he begins to flutter his tongue in and out, and Faris already feels loose and opened up for him even if it’s only the first breach.

Earlier today, Rachel had laid him across her lap, arms tied behind his back, and flogged him until he cried and then some, all while Josh stretched out his mouth with his fingers. He took turns giving them both head after, and that had been enough to get him rock hard and ready to be fucked. Still, the flesh is tender underneath Josh’s rough hands, and more so when he squeezes down, hard enough for it to sting. The white-hot pain is a mere echo of having his arse beaten sore, and still, Faris rubs his face into the mattress and whines.

“Does it still hurt?”

Rachel reaches to dig one small hand into the back of his hair, deep enough to scratch the scalp, and despite her sharp nails and the persistent hurt, it's comforting. Faris yields for the touch, tilts his head not to appear greedy but still in the hope of getting more.

 “Answer me when I ask a question.” She itches the soft skin at his nape. “Does it hurt when he does that?”

Faris replies, “yes,” and it falls out clumsy from his mouth, further muffled by his cheek that's still smushed against the sheets. “Yes, it hurts.”

“Good.”

Rachel grabs him by the skin of his neck, the way one would hold a young dog. Her fingers pinch the skin, not enough to be truly painful, but between that and Josh all over his arse, Faris doesn't know what to focus on. He merely groans.

“Come here.”

Faris slumps forward, into a more comfortable position than the face-down-ass-up Josh had forced him into. The ropes had come off when Josh decided that it was time for him to get opened up, but even now, Faris isn't sure what to do with his arms, so they remain useless by his sides.

Rachel combs through his hair again, much more careful this time around. She's close enough that Faris can rest his head on her thigh now, the fabric of her stockings soft against his face. Even with her breasts soft and goosebumped, her cunt bare on the sheets, she's never truly _naked_ during sex, is she? No, Faris is the only one who's truly exposed here, especially now that Josh's pulled on his harness to fuck him later on.

“You're a good boy,” Rachel commends. Faris almost feels unworthy under her hands and gaze.

To get fucked, yes, he wants to reiterate that he's about to be _fucked_. It's been much too long since he last had a cock inside him, to grind over his walls and stretch him out and make him ache in a way Rachel's delicate fingers or the plug she liked to make him wear simply _couldn't_.

Faris never liked the sensation of being rimmed much. Eating arse, yes, he loved having a stranger grab him by the hair and shove his face in after his mouth had already been fucked raw, or wandering down there when Rachel was sitting on his face, for that matter. Being on the receiving end, however, he'd always felt alien having something done so degrading done to him. Besides, he prefers the rigidity of fingers or cock much over Josh's soft tongue, even if Josh spreading him open, the soft whisper of, “pretty hole,” he let out before he went in for it, runs a deep shiver down his spine just thinking about it.

Yesterday, Rachel had made him sit on all fours on the bathroom tiles, wearing only his softest T-shirt and the collar firmly around his neck, and cleaned out all the hair back there with hot wax. Normally, Faris removed only the pubic hair surrounding his cock, and even then, he stuck to a sharp razor and conditioner for shaving cream. Rachel had insisted it to be a special occasion for Josh to join them, though, and she rubbed the gooseflesh on his thighs and whispered encouragements whenever she pulled off a strip. Faris did cry by the end of it, elbows buckled and face buried in the bath mat, but the soft skin had been so delicate under Rachel's fingers when she cleaned him up and applied the lotion, and that's nothing compared to the sensation when she fingerfucked him later that night. He shudders in anticipation at the thought of Josh's touch on his smooth hole, not to mention the delicious moment of his cock pressing insistently before it pops inside.

Josh sucks at his hole, the same way he'd suck a bruise into Faris' collarbone, and Faris heaves with the sigh that slips out.

“D'you like it? When Josh licks you out?”

Faris only manages another noise at the first moment, a harsher groan that's squeezed from him when Josh's calloused hand finds his cock and _yanks_ at the base, hard enough to hurt. He's been hard and untouched for too long, what Rachel disparagingly calls _easy_ , able to stay erect and desperate just from touches to his arse, his mouth, his neck. Her fingers pet the back of his head and his jaw at the same time, both hands surrounding his face now.

“I said to answer me when I ask you a question.”

Faris doesn't get the short second of anticipation at this angle, only a sudden prickle when she's pulled off her hand to smack his cheek. Like being slapped back into consciousness, he's suddenly hyperaware of Josh's breath on his skin, Josh's tongue inside him and the suction he's applying to the most ticklish waxed skin there. _Ticklish_ , that's probably how it feels overall, too intense to ignore and yet not enough stimulus to make him ache the way he craves.

“Yes… No,” he decides. He's not sure.

“Which is it, pup?”

Rachel tugs the back of the collar, just enough to tighten his throat for a sharp split second. And enough for him to find his focus all over again.

“No.”

Faris rubs his nose into the hem of her stocking, the small strip where the wool ends and her bare thigh starts, pale like the marble of a statue but so much warmer and softer than it looks. She smells like perfume, like skin and like cunt.

“What is it that you want, then?”

 _Fucked_ , he wants to get fucked. Best not to be too greedy, though. “I want fingers.”

He wants to put his face back in her cunt.

Josh squeezes the root of his cock once again, but this time, Faris expects the pain and welcomes it. His head rolls down into Rachel's grip and his hips arch up in a strange waving motion, and Josh  hums into him again. The vibration almost tickles.

“Did you hear that? He wants some fingers.”

Rachel guides his head into a more sideways position that almost strains his neck, and Faris lets her manipulate him like she would a rag doll. He knows what's coming before she pries his mouth open to slide her three fingers inside, hooking past the line of his teeth and pressing down on his tongue.

Faris doesn't know what it's supposed to be when he muffles out a noise.

“I thought you were a little too demanding there. Maybe you want to keep your mouth shut for a bit.”

Rachel says it in her softest voice, a hint of a giggle hidden within even, and it's maybe worse than if she kept her stern Dominant façade. She curls her fingers as if she was fingering his _other_ hole, that's really all Faris is at the moment, two holes and a throbbing cock. His limbs are entirely useless, and he can't see much more than a slice of Rachel's torso and a puffy pink nipple, and his brain… any coherent thought not related to fucking has been replaced by static long ago. He's only here to obey and maybe, eventually get his brains fucked out. If he's good enough.

“Suck me.”

Josh's fingers feel dry when he snags the first two in Faris' hole, maybe covered in a thin layer of spit at most. He's got thick weathered guitarist's fingers, much stronger than Faris' could ever be, but with the expertise of an engineer, a strange paradox that fits in so well with the juxtaposition of contradictions that is _Josh_. His saliva is enough to make the glide easy, however, Faris' hole opened up so wide for him. It's almost shameful how _fucking easy_ he is for Josh, especially since his other hand is no longer gripping his cock, but then those fingers press down on his prostate, a gentle, yet insistent motion, and Faris wails through the fingers stuffed in his mouth. He's completely ashamed, his face would go red if all the blood flow wasn't centred between his legs where his cock hangs low, and his eyes fill up with tears.

“I said, _suck_.”

The signal is his three fingers raised.

“It'd be fun to just have him cum like this,” Josh says, in his casually-disrespectful way. “Make him earn it.”

His right hand pulls back to slap Faris' arse, and he obeys and sucks Rachel's fingers. Spit-roasted between them, all he can do is blink away the tears and wait for his reward, the fucking he's supposed to get for being a good boy. He feels so much and at the same time it's not enough, it's nowhere near enough even when Josh tucks another finger into him.

Faris wants to say, “please,” but instead, he only rakes his teeth over Rachel's knuckles.

“But I think you've earned it, have you?” Josh asks, next, and his voice seems closer than before, his breath too close to the small of Faris' back

Faris can't even see him.

Josh spits on his arsehole and shoves his fingers in deeper, and Faris grinds his hips into nothing. He needs _this_ , and what's more, Josh's cock is so much thicker and bigger, and the thought of it almost makes his eyes water again. The head of his cock is so leaky it's probably left a stain on the sheets already, he's _so easy_.

“Get down.”

Josh shoves at the hollow between his shoulders next, a warm presence behind Faris' knees on the bed and almost in the ideal position to start fucking him. He goes down easy with Rachel's hand shoving his head back onto the sheets, the fingers of the other still tucked safely into his mouth.

“That's it.”

The next time, the hand strokes over his hip. The mattress shifts beneath him and Faris already knows what's coming even before Josh pulls his fingers out. It's only a split second of emptiness, but he's nowhere near prepared for the sudden sturdy push of Josh's cock, the stretch that knocks all the breath out of him when the head pops inside.

Faris tells it by the click of the bottle rather than anything else when Josh applies the lube, but when he keeps feeding his cock in, it's slick, all the way down to the root so he can feel the cotton of Josh's shorts. He's in _balls-deep_. Josh's cock fills him out all the way, all however-many inches of it, and the sensation almost makes him gag in the best way. He sucks Rachel's fingers deeper into his mouth.

“Jesus.”

“Admiring the view?” Rachel asks. She strokes underneath his collar again, fingers just dainty enough to fit the fraction of an inch of space between leather and skin.

Faris knows completely how obscene he looks like this. He'd asked Rachel to take a polaroid one night when she insisted she wanted to take him from behind, knows the softness of his arse and how the skin around his entrance almost _looks_ stretched-thin, and he wonders how much worse it must look at the moment with Josh's cock much thicker than their strap-on and the marks still littering him. Back arched like an animal in heat, with only the heavy dog collar on his neck, he also wonders what it looks like from _Rachel's_ perspective, and the image makes him shudder even more than the thick unmoving silicone buried to the hilt inside. Faris wishes for Rachel to take another picture.

“D'you think I should move?”

It's not a question, not in the sense that Josh was waiting for an answer before he pulls out, inch by agonising fraction-of-an-inch. Both his hands are bracketing Faris' hips now, heavy fingers only waiting for an opportunity to dig in and give him more bruises, and Faris is good as immobilised and completely at Josh's mercy. On the way out, the head grinds over his prostate and it doesn't stop there, until he feels it stretching his entrance from the _inside_ , threatening to pop back out.

Faris wants to say, “please,” again.

Rachel shushes him when he tries.

Finally, finally, after several split seconds, Josh pushes back in. He's still slow enough for it to be considered _feeding_ , but this time, it's much more deliberate, not about getting Faris acclimatised but a genuine slow thrust for his prostate. Josh focusses on that spot when he reaches it, accompanied by Faris' heavy breathing – like a dog begging for a bone –, and he rubs the head up and down that particular inch of Faris' walls several times.

Faris yowls and yowls and _yowls_ , even with Rachel still stuffing his mouth, face contorting painfully to contain any stray tear and any noise but failing miserably. The pit of his stomach is taut the same way his cock and balls are taut, the skin there pulled in place by the heat behind it, the need. Josh won't stop prodding his prostate, cock sliding in and out with a steady, yet desperate rhythm, like he's trying to coax the orgasm out from Faris.

“I bet you could cum just from this,” Josh says.

He reaches out to slap Faris' arse, and this time, it's the gesture itself rather than the sting that gets to him. Josh doesn't even stop his thrusts when he does it.

“Just from me fucking your arse, right?”

 _Right_ , but Faris can't possibly say that. His cock's so ripe, and still-yet-all-over-again he feels like he's nothing but that, just a hole for Josh to abuse, and he thinks he loves it.

Josh slaps him again. Faris' fists curl into the sheets, hands finally remembering their purpose, and he drools around Rachel's fingers. Some wetness leaks onto his chin to add to the tears his eyes are swimming in, the fluid that continues to leak from his cock, he's so fucking _wet_ for it. His teeth slip and gnaw her knuckles when Rachel pushes deeper to gag him, to give him what he probably deserves for being messy and easy and a _dog_ , much worse than that, a hole, a toy. The collar around his neck is so heavy it weighs him down.

He doesn't expect it when Josh changes the rhythm to fuck him deeper, faster, and Faris almost bites Rachel's hand again when Josh thrusts in deep for the first time.

“Hush.”

Rachel pets the back of his neck, the soft hair at the bottom of his head, and just as soon, she yanks at it to make him keen and shudder with gooseflesh all over.

“Are you close yet?”

 _Yes_. Yes, yes, yes, Faris dreads to admit how tight and hot his skin feels beneath the goosebumps, how tight his _cock_ feels with so much sensation centred into it. Behind it, in the very pit of his belly, a pressure is filling him up, a delicious force pushing his cock, and with every thrust into his prostate, that pressure grows bigger and bigger.

“You're so easy, aren't you?”

He _is_ , he's the easiest imaginable and he's just as much of a dog as the collar implies, not tight enough to choke him but it sure _feels_ like it. Faris' fists ball tighter in the sheets at Rachel's soft voice wrapped around filthy words, so tight it hurts his entire hands.

“Love getting fucked by a big cock.”

She strokes his neck under the collar again, she's right. She's so right, and Faris wouldn't even be ashamed to tell her if he wasn't still drooling around her fingers, so all that comes out is a choked-up noise of affirmation that he's immediately ashamed of.

Far behind him, Josh snorts, and somehow, it scathes more than any actual statement he could have made. He's not getting off on this, Faris knows, already came with Rachel forcing Faris' head between his legs and lips and tongue on his cock, and somehow, that only makes Faris feel even dirtier. It's all just for _him_ , all for him why his eyes are watering and his cock is dribbling down onto the sheets, not so much used as he's being _spoiled_. The reminder has him squeeze his eyes shut in overwhelming.

“I'm gonna fuck him 'til he cries,” Josh says, and there comes another slap.

He _is_ , Faris already is, and still, new tears trickle out not so much out of the pain of the impact but the desire to be good. He wants to be a _good boy_ , and more than that he wants to cum, his skin so itchy with the need it's almost painful.

 _Please_ , he wants to say, but only a toneless cry comes out.

Josh shoves in _deep_ and Faris wails, genuine tears at the sudden sensation of being stuffed full of cock, and with every deep-deep thrust the girth of Josh's dick grinds along his prostate over again. His hand finds Rachel's knee, somehow, still blind with his eyes shut tight and dizzy with getting fucked, and grasps it tightly, any way to signal he won't hold it for much longer.

“Let me guess, pup? You're going to cum?”

Rachel's fingers entangle with his, no longer at the back of his neck to remind him whose he is. Somehow, the noise he makes through his full mouth is coherent enough to communicate what he wants to say.

Yes, yes, _yes_.

“Go ahead,” she says, and she rubs the soft part between Faris' thumb and pointer.

Faris wants to sob.

He breaks when Josh fucks in one more time and the pressure becomes too heavy, his heartbeat and his hands and all the muscles in his body _break_ , and for a second, he can't tell if he's going tense or slack. His cock aches with every pulse of cum dirtying the sheets, _dirtying_ , and the thought of it makes him want to cry with shame all over again.

Behind him, Josh's breath is coming out louder, awestruck or horny or both, and the thought of _that_ sends a dirtyfilthy shiver up Faris' back. Before it's even over, before Josh's even stopped fucking him through it, both of Rachel's hands are cradling his head again already.

“Hey, it's okay. It's fine.”

*

After, Rachel covers the stain on the sheets with the towel from the bedside drawer so he won't have to move off the bed just yet. She fluffs up a pillow for beneath his head, cleans the worst of the mess with a wet wipe and helps him into a comfortable soft t-shirt, and she leans down to undo the collar.

“Faris?” she asks, in her softest, clearest voice. “Can you raise your head for me, a little bit?”

“Keep it,” Faris insists. The tears have stopped again, but still, his vision is blurred, contacts gone cloudy with sex. “Keep it on, I like it.”

“Come on, luv.” Her fingers caress the leather, enough to stroke over his neck by association. It does feel a bit tight around his throat by now. “You can wear your necklace after you've been in the shower.”

Faris lets her. She places the collar very carefully on the end table where he can see it, and she slips on a pair of comfortable pants while she's at it. Still, Faris thinks he can catch a glimpse of how wet watching him has made her, and he likes that a lot, he thinks.

“Come here?”

Rachel lies on her back when she does, close enough that she can stretch out one arm and cup Faris' shoulder with her dainty hand. Faris wraps one arm around her in return, and he moves in to use her soft breasts as a pillow. Normally, he's the little spoon, but he likes this, likes being able to hear her heartbeat.

“You looked really hot towards the end there when Josh was fucking you really hard,” she admits. “Like you were having a religious experience, like a martyr.”

Faris only laughs and basks in the compliment.

“You were really good, I'm proud of you.”

And he hums.

“Would you like to do it again?” Rachel asks, and after a moment of consideration, she adds, “you don't have to answer right away.”

“I think, yeah.”

Rachel kisses the top of his head, and Faris shuts his eyes. His legs and feet are beginning to get cold, not to mention his soft cock. He envies Rachel for her ability to wear socks to bed.

“I love you.”

His chest is warm, however, heartbeat fluttery inside his ribs. “Love you,” he says back.

He tells it by the gentle sound of the door when Josh comes back into the bedroom, rather than anything else.

“D'you want some water?”

The bed behind Faris dips in when Josh climbs on.

“Give it here.” Rachel has to move her hand from Faris' shoulder to accept the bottle, but he doesn't complain. “Faris?”

Faris hums.

“Can you raise your head again?”

She holds the bottle up to his mouth for him to drink, enough to replenish his dry throat, and only a little spills onto the bedding.

“Thank you.”

“I ordered Indian,” Josh announces when he spoons up behind Faris and reaches down for the duvet to drape it over all three of them.

He's wearing a clean pair of pants, Faris can feel it, but his chest is clearly still bare when it lines up with his back.

“Should be here in half an hour.”

“You're great,” Rachel says back. “I'll set the alarm on my phone.”

Josh hums. His arms ring around Faris' waist, tight but not so tight as to squeeze. Faris didn't realise how hungry he was until just now.

“Love you too, Josh,” he mumbles out.

Josh presses his lips to the back of his neck, no strands of hair to tickle him. Probably means he's still wearing that stupid top knot he puts his hair in for sex, even through his fuzzy brain Faris can't believe how much he loves that part of Josh. Josh in general.

“You're so _nice_.” Josh bites the spot he had just kissed, and he adds, “you're lucky you look pretty when you've got a dick in your ass.”

“So, does that mean you love him too?”

“Love you, Faz.”

Faris isn't even bothered by the nickname. Josh somehow manages to be warm even after he's just walked through half of the flat naked, and he doesn't know whose heat to seek out underneath the duvet.

“Want me to shag you tomorrow morning while your boyfriend's tied up?”

 _Tomorrow morning_. Faris isn't sure what time it is, but there's still light streaming through the blinds and onto their bed, and maybe they could do it again tonight, after the food and after a good shower. His whole body is so sluggish but the very thought still raises the hair all over it.

Rachel laughs. “Maybe.”

She rolls over to kiss Faris' neck from the other side, where the collar had covered his Adam's apple, and it's okay.

“I love you both.”


End file.
